


I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bellarke, Dancing, F/F, F/M, Holding Hands, Homecoming Dance, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 23:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: This hadn’t been the first time the group had decided on something that led him into a less-than-platonic-even-though-they-were-definitely-platonic-no-matter-what-anyone-said situation with Clarke. Whenever there was a team activity, they got paired off against the actual couples, and they somehow always ended up with a love seat or couch to themselves during board games and movie nights.It was great, out of context. More time with Clarke, being closer to her, having everything he wanted--almost.--OR: Bellamy’s friends set up a homecoming dance to fulfill the high school experience none of them got--which is great, except they’re pairing him up with his not-so-secret-gigantic-crush Clarke.





	I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)

**Author's Note:**

> original title: My Life as Bellarke Except More Dramatic Because I Can Get Away With More Things Than I Can In Real Life (if yall want that story hmu on tumblr @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx lmao)
> 
> also i'm so sorry i didn't include harper i'm the worst and i'm sending her all my money and love in penance
> 
> also i already would've died for that whitney houston song but love, simon made it even worse lol

At first, the idea of having a homecoming dance as a twenty-something-year-old didn’t seem that bad to Bellamy. In fact, he supported it, considering it would be presumably less awkward and only with his friends, rather than a bunch of sweaty, hormonal teenagers (“What’s the difference between those things again?” Miller snarked; Jasper punched him in the shoulder, probably because he knew the dig was aimed at him).

           Plus, none of his friends had really gotten good memories for their high school homecomings. Jasper had to third wheel and then got abandoned halfway through the dance. Clarke realized she was being cheated on when her boyfriend showed up with another girl after saying he was out of town. Raven  _was_  the other girl, but at least she and Clarke could bond after being held back from punching Finn in the face. Monty and Miller had other conflicts (not with each other, unfortunately), Luna and Wells had both been homeschooled, and Bellamy had been home taking care of a sick Octavia. Murphy had been out doing...whatever it was Murphy did, so maybe he actually had a fun time.

           Anyway, Jasper had come up with the idea to put on their own and the idea had spread like wildfire—even to Miller, who seemed much more eager to participate now that he and Monty had figured out their shit. Plus, Clarke convinced her parents to let her use their cabin in the mountains, which meant they’d have a big open barn to dance in and a place to stay the night, since alcohol was a thing.

           All in all, it was a good idea, and Bellamy was absolutely  _not_  thinking about how everyone was already pairing up with someone in the group or their own significant others except him and Clarke. Absolutely not.

           This hadn’t been the first time the group had decided on something that led him into a less-than-platonic-even-though-they-were-definitely-platonic-no-matter-what-anyone-said situation with Clarke. Whenever there was a team activity, they got paired off against the actual couples, and they somehow always ended up with a love seat or couch to themselves during board games and movie nights.

           It was great, out of context. More time with Clarke, being closer to her, having basically everything he wanted. But once you threw in that ugly p-word, it just reminded him how painfully pathetic he was over this girl. (Look, two more p-words. He’d have to make a collection.)

It also made him intensely paranoid (ah!) about Clarke discovering his feelings for her, which was basically the worst-case scenario he could imagine. And the fact that this trip would involve dressing up, and dancing, and alcohol, and close quarters...well, in short terms, he was fucked. There was no way he was going to handle this well.

           Despite that, Bellamy was determined to enjoy it, so he helped plan and pay for food delivery and listened to Miller’s surprisingly long, excited rant and refused to think about any non-platonic aspect of the upcoming weekend.

 

One week before the Friday they were leaving for the cabin, Bellamy had to go out of town for a couple days to help Octavia, who had surgery and needed constant supervision for at least thirty-six hours afterwards—something Lincoln and her friends couldn’t provide with school and work.

           But he was her big brother, so of course he could move things around.

           She wasn’t a very engaging roommate, being heavily drugged and usually either grumpy, hungry, sleeping, or in pain, so Bellamy busied himself with anything he could find. He changed her ice packs, organized the medicine so he knew she would take the right doses, because apparently he  _still_  hadn’t figured out how to stop treating her like an eleven-year-old, cleaned the apartment, and, of course, texted Clarke.

           Listen, Bellamy wasn’t  _completely_  blind; he knew and he and Clarke were extremely co-dependent people. Being apart for more than a day or two was awful, and anything longer than that nearly unbearable, so whenever one of them was away for any reason, they kept their phones as close as possible.

           On Friday, the conversation was mostly normal stuff, like how their day had been or the random person they’d noticed off a street corner or how bored they felt already and are you  _sure_  Lincoln can’t fill in for the rest and you can just come home now? It was soothing, familiar, though Bellamy already felt his heart getting tight with wanting to talk to her in person—knocking his shoulder into hers, watching her face brighten as she laughed, casually brushing his hand against hers and acting like it was an accident.

           (He was a  _little_  needy for her. Just a little.)

           Then, as Friday slipped into Saturday, Clarke suddenly dropped out for almost five hours, which was extremely odd for her on a day when he knew she wasn’t working. She always left little messages just to check in, whether they were sarcastic comments like  _this asshole client’s head is reaching Megamind proportions_  or little things that made his heart go into overdrive like  _miss youuuuuuuuuu_  and  _friendly reminder you’re my favorite_  and  _good luck at work I believe in you_. She  _never_  left him on read if she could help it; if it meant she sent a single letter, she would, just to fulfill his nagging worry.

           So five hours without contact was making Bellamy very worried indeed.

           Finally, after eight texts and two calls, Bellamy turned to the group chat.

**Me:** Have you seen Clarke?

**Miller:**  Not today why

**Me:** She hasn’t texted me....

**Jasper:**  wasnt she goin out today

**Me:**  With who???

**Jasper:**  her mom or smthn

**Raven:**  yeh her mom called her up suddenly. ran out of lunch. haven’t seen her since

**Me:**  Is she okay?

**Miller:**  Aren’t you usually the one who knows that

**Jasper:**  hehehe

**Raven:** hm that’s true blake

**Me:**  Shut up. Let me know if you hear anything.

**Raven:**  sure thing lover boy

           Bellamy didn’t feel much better after that conversation, though he was glad she’d been seen at some point that day. He tried contacting Abby, but her phone was either turned off or dead because nothing would send. Then he tried contacting Clarke again; still no response.

           By five o’clock that evening, Bellamy was out of his mind with worry, about ready to make Lincoln skip his evening shift and come home so he go find out what the hell had happened to his best friend, but then he got a phone call.

           Clarke’s face filled his screen and he nearly cried in relief, picking up instantly. “Clarke? Are you okay? What happened?”

           “Bellamy,” she breathed, all unwinding relief, and his heart  _ached_. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I didn’t get a hold of you before, my mom called me and...do you have a second?”

           “Yes, absolutely. Of course. Whatever you need.”

           Bellamy could almost hear her smile through the phone; a soft, weary smile. Affectionate, but heavy-laden.

           “Okay. So, uh—I was at lunch with Raven, as you might have known, when my mom suddenly called me. She didn’t explain anything, just said that she needed to see me immediately, no excuses, not an option.”

           Bellamy frowned. “Did she sound worried?”

           “Very. And not in her usual jittery way, how she would get if the house wasn’t clean or I had gotten back a little late. She sounded unnaturally calm, like she was worried she’d cry if she didn’t completely hold it together.”

           Crying? That was as far from Abigail Griffin as you could get. Bellamy had never heard her cry, and Clarke claimed she’d only heard her mother cry a few times her entire life. Job loss, natural disaster, death,  _nothing_  broke Abigail Griffin.

           But apparently something had gotten close.

           “I barely gave Raven an explanation before I ran out, and then when I got to my mom’s house, she was waiting on the porch, in that rocking chair she only uses when she’s thinking hard or can’t be in the house anymore. I ran up and asked her what happened, but despite how urgent she was over the phone she was slow to talk, and it took me a lot of prodding before she...before she told me.”

           “Told you what?” Bellamy asked, getting more nervous by the moment.

           Here Clarke paused, long and heavy, and Bellamy wished more than ever he could be with her right now. “You know how my dad works with the state?”

           He frowned. “Uh, yeah. Deals with a lot of confidential stuff, I heard.”

           “Yeah. Well, uh, apparently he found some...some secrets, things the government didn’t want to release, that could affect lives.”

           “Like what?”

           “I don’t know. But whatever it was, it could get them into huge trouble if it got let out, and my dad wanted to do it.”

           The pieces were starting to come together, in a way that Bellamy’s stomach churn. “He told your mom about his plan.”

           There was a choked sound. “She believed him, which was the problem. She didn’t think it was safe to tell the people; that the costs outweighed the benefits. She warned him not to come forward.”

           “And he did anyway?”

           “He tried to. But my mom knows him too well, she knew how he’d try to do it, and before he could she...God, Bellamy, she  _turned him in._ ”

           He’d already guessed, but hearing it out loud was like a punch to the gut all over again. “What?”

           “She called up his boss and told him everything, and they looked into his laptop and found all the data there, ready to be sent out. They...they took him, an hour before my mom called.”

           “Wait, she called you  _after_  they took him?”

           Clarke heaved out a breath, clearly struggling to reign in her temper. “She said she thought it’d be easier for me to not see him go.” She nearly spat the words. “I get to see him tomorrow, and then not until after court.”

           Bellamy huffed angrily. “God, that’s awful.”

           “You’re telling me.” There was a long pause, and Bellamy knew Clarke was trying to compose herself. “God, I wish you were here right now, Bellamy.”

           Tears quickly pricked at Bellamy’s eyes and he sat down before they could do any more, tucking his legs up and pressing his ear even closer to the phone. “I wish I was, too. I’ll be home tomorrow, okay? No matter what. I won’t even stop at my house before I come and see you.”

           “No, no, don’t do that. Go home, get settled. If you want to come see me you can, but you don’t have to feel any obligation....”

           “Clarke.”

           She sighed a little. “Yes, Bellamy?”

           “I always want to see you, especially when you need me around. I’ll be there as soon as I possibly can.”

           A breath. “I—thank you, Bellamy. Seriously. Thank you so fucking much.”

           Bellamy smiled, just a little. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

After that, Bellamy guiltily found it very hard to focus on Octavia, though thankfully she was usually asleep and didn’t ask for much the further they got into the thirty-six-hour period. He texted Clarke constantly, though he did drop off when she texted she was off to see Jake, figuring she needed some privacy. He also cleaned incessantly, even going so far as to organize the pantry by food content, since even with Lincoln around Octavia’s clutter knew no bounds. (And since his paternal tendencies also knew no bounds.)

           By the time Lincoln came home and dismissed him from his duty, Bellamy had exhausted himself from distractions and was nearly out the door before the other man walked in, pausing only to wish him luck and give his sleeping sister a quick kiss goodbye.

           He drove like mad on the way home, probably running a few reds on the way but not caring much. Once he had pulled up to his apartment, he essentially threw all his belongings into the front room, grabbed a couple of beers, and left for Clarke’s house.

           They fortunately lived very close together, mostly because Clarke specifically looked for an apartment in his neighborhood once she moved out of her dorm. It took only three minutes for him to be pulling in front of her building, and then he was running to the door.

           She opened it almost as soon as he knocked, and immediately all of Bellamy’s senses were overwhelmed with  _Clarke_ —her bright eyes, her tangled hair, her slouchy shirt falling off her shoulder, the faint bags under her eyelids. It was like his entire body sighed in utter relief at seeing her again, though it had been less than two days.

           Then he remembered why he was there, and his heart ached all over again.

           He set the bottles down on the front table and immediately went to wrap Clarke up in a hug. She sank into the touch, locking her hands around his back and burying her face in his shoulder. Feeling emotion well up horribly inside him, Bellamy cupped the back of her neck and leaned his head against hers when she burrowed closer, wetness pooling against his neck and the collar of his shirt.

           “Hey,” he said gently, rocking her a little. “I’m here. I’m here now.”

           Clarke took a few long, heavy breaths, calming enough to simply take comfort in the embrace rather than needing it to hold her together. When she finally pulled away, it was hesitant, and her eyes were redder than before.

           “God, I missed you,” she said after a moment.

           “I know,” he said, wiping a tear off her face before he could stop himself. “But I’m here now, and I brought beer.”

           At that, she smiled widely, with just a little bit of snark. “Really? Alcohol? In my tender state?”

           “Yes, because I’m a good friend who knows the only thing other than chocolate that helps with tragedy is being drunk with somebody else.”

           Clarke smiled. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

           They went right for the couch, curling up together like they always did—Clarke’s legs tucked halfway in his lap, leaned against his side while he rubbed her arm. She didn’t open her beer right away in favor of burrowing her nose into his collar, and he followed suit, holding his unopened drink in his free hand and letting the silence settle until Clarke felt like speaking.

           She started with, “He looked normal.”

           Bellamy turned his head a little. “Is that good?”

           “Maybe? I mean—yes. Yes, it’s good. It’s just...I expected him to look sick, or worried, or scared, or something. But he just looked the same as usual, besides the outfit.”

           “Did you talk to him?”

           “Yeah. He said he was sorry, and that it was okay if I was angry at my mother but to not let it come between us. He said he still thought he had done the right thing, and it was okay if he was being punished for that.” She said the words thickly, clearly holding onto more unshed tears.

           Bellamy paused, unsure what he could ask and weary of overstepping any boundaries right now. “Are you...was it better? To see him?”

           “God, no,” Clarke hissed, then backtracked. “I don’t know. I...I’m glad I saw him, but it was...hard. To see him, and not be able to really talk to him how I wanted. Knowing we were watched. Knowing what’s probably going to happen to him.”

           “Did he say anything about that? What would happen?”

           Clarke shook her head minutely against his chest. “No. But I can guess.”

           Bellamy could, too, but he didn’t want to think about it too much, and he assumed Clarke didn’t either. “Do you want to watch something? Or eat a little? What do you need?”

           Clarke lifted her head to smile at him; he blinked at the immediate proximity of their faces. “I have alcohol and my best friend, what more could I need?”

           Bellamy pretended to think for a moment. “Brooklyn Nine-Nine?”

           Clarke laughed at that, and Bellamy was pretty sure his heart grew four times over. “Yeah, okay, Brooklyn Nine-Nine sounds pretty great, too.”

           They watched a couple episodes, half paying attention and half just reveling in the fact the other person was present. Eventually they opened the drinks, too, which loosened them up a little bit, and Clarke started smiling just a little more, though he knew it was a Band-Aid kind of smile.

           He felt himself ease up a little bit, too—which was a problem, because there were a lot of things Bellamy tended to hold in only by never easing up.

           “You’re my favorite,” he murmured, resting his face against her hair when their drinks were nearly gone. “You know that? My favorite ever.”

           Clarke squinted up at him curiously. “Ever?”

           “Yeah. Ever.”

           She giggled a little. “Well, that’s good, because you’re my favorite ever, too.”

           Bellamy blinked in surprise at this. He knew Clarke liked him a lot, and that they were very close, and she always called him her best friend so he assumed she must on some level see him as that person for her. But he always kind of assumed...oh, he didn’t really know, but he never was able to quite imagine himself as  _actually_  being Clarke’s favorite person. It didn’t really compute.

           “Really?” he asked, dazed.

           Clarke scrunched up her nose, probably to look grumpy, but it was so adorable Bellamy had to physically restrain himself from kissing it. “Yes, really.”

           He hesitated, not sure how to respond, and this must have been unacceptable to Clarke because she sat up a little so she could more properly look him in the eye. “Listen up, Bellamy Blake. You’re the bestest person ever, and I’m always going to love you loads so don’t you try to deny it.”

           That just made Bellamy’s inability to speak worse, and he only managed to get out, “Uhhh....”

           “Okay?” Clarke demanded, infuriatingly adorable and far too close to him everywhere.

           Bellamy swallowed hard, trying not to let his eyes flutter. “Okay.”

           Immediately sated, Clarke settled back beside him, though a little closer now, and burrowed her nose into his collarbone. “Good.”

           “Yeah,” said Bellamy, feeling suddenly far more sober than he should’ve. “Yeah. Good.”

 

The rest of that week, Bellamy’s brain was consumed by only two things: the fake homecoming dance that weekend, and Clarke’s words. Which, in many ways, was just the same thought, because now that sleeping arrangements had been mostly figured out, he was realizing more and more he was going to be sleeping either with Clarke or on the couch, and he  _knew_  she wasn’t going to let him do the latter. Which meant he was going to sleep in the same room as her with phrases like  _you’re my favorite_ and  _I’m always going to love you loads_  clanging around his head nonstop like a wound-up cymbal monkey toy.

           She  _had_ to be saying all those things because she was drunk, right? She had to. She’d never shown romantic interest in him before, and especially not...well. But the way she’d looked up at him, furiously honest with all the tenderness in the world, he’d believed it for a moment, felt his confession crawling up his throat even.

           Which was horrifying, in the simple sense. If Clarke ever figured out his feelings for her, he couldn’t imagine it ending well, and he was  _not_  losing his best friend. Not for anything.

           He just wished the rest of him would take the hint.

           Because the universe loved to taunt him, Bellamy saw Clarke every day after that—once with the rest of his friends to plan out some final details for the weekend, once because she asked him over to help move something, and twice in respect to her father.

           Which made him feel like even more of a dick about the whole thing, because he should’ve been entirely focused on making sure Clarke was doing okay with everything about her dad, and he was trying, really he was, but he was fighting against six or so years of barely bridled affection for her and unfortunately, it was winning.

           One day, when he came over to help her relax after a police interview, Bellamy asked, “Are you sure you can come this weekend?”

           Clarke looked at him, a little confused, and set down the plate she’d been putting away. “I told you yesterday, didn’t I? They don’t think I’m suspicious and the stories of my father and mother both back it up. They approved me being away over the weekend, as long as I was back by Tuesday at the latest.”

           Bellamy pursed his lips. “Yes, but, uh...are you sure you want to?”

           The confusion increased significantly, forming crinkles around her eyes. “Why would I not?”

           “I don’t know, I just thought, uh—maybe you might want to be alone for a couple days, or get some rest instead of partying it up with us,” Bellamy said awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

           Now Clarke smiled a little. “Thanks for checking, but trust me, the last thing I want is to be alone with my thoughts right now. Having a weekend away from everything sounds like a dream come true. And besides,” she added, tilting her head cutely, “I asked you over all week because I wanted you; I’m not about to stop.”

           Bellamy added  _I wanted you; I’m not about to stop_  to the list of phrases he was going to lose sleep over for the rest of his life.

           “O—okay, Clarke,” he said; then, realizing how hesitant he sounded, added hurriedly, “Not that I’m—I want you to go. I mean, if you want. I’m excited for—uh. I just—”

           Clarke laughed a little. “Thanks, Bellamy. I’m excited to go with you, too.” She moved a little closer, which definitely didn’t affect him at all. Definitely. “It’ll be fun, right? You and me versus the world.”

           He raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware it was supposed to be a competition.”

           She grinned wolfishly. “It’s always a competition, and we’re going to win it together.”

           Bellamy wondered how someone won an overnight homecoming dance, then immediately decided he should think of something else.

When Bellamy arrived at Clarke’s family cabin, he knew it was going to be big, because her parents were loaded beyond reason, but seeing it was a different story—it was less like a cabin and more like a small  _mansion_. He’d previously assumed the ‘ballroom’ would be a separate barn or something, but now he realized it was probably inside the monstrous thing.

           Not for the first time, Bellamy wondered how he had managed to stumble into a friendship with someone like Clarke, someone with a life so very different than his own. It didn’t seem possible they could just...find each other, just happen to be in the same class in a school Clarke was probably too smart and certainly too rich for. You couldn’t just stumble across someone like Clarke; that’d be like walking outside and accidentally bumping into a miracle. She was....

           Well, she was a lot of things, and considering she was getting out of the car right behind him, he decided he should probably shove all thoughts of her as deeply as humanly possible. (Which, admittedly, was about half an inch down.)

           Everyone immediately rushed to explore the house, walking through high-ceilinged rooms with that rich vintage feeling to every piece of furniture, every ornamental lamp, even the paint color.

           There were five bedrooms, as he’d feared. Everyone had already paired up by way of relationship—Miller and Monty; Raven and Luna; Murphy and Emori (who wasn’t an original member of the group but had been adopted into it about a year ago); and Wells and Jasper, who were not dating but had decided to room up anyway, probably just to ruin Bellamy’s life. This left the last room for him and Clarke, and after looking through all of them, he confirmed each room had only one bed.

           Hoorah.

           Once everyone had gotten their fair look at the house, they unpacked the cars and brought everything into the house. Bellamy tried to stall bringing his things into the bedroom, but Clarke pulled him along without even noticing his reluctance, so he settled for putting his bag by the door instead of on the bed.

           Then, when everyone felt properly settled, they celebrated with lunch. Bellamy sat between Clarke and Wells, who kept flicking little bits of food at each other or trying to have chugging contests and laughing when they failed.

           Everyone was that way, in fact, happy and unworried and comfortable, and Bellamy’s heart managed to settle a little. Even if rooming with Clarke was going to be a little weird, at least he got to spend the weekend with her and their other friends.

           There wasn’t anything on their agenda for several hours, when they were going to set things up for the dance the following night, so Bellamy decided to get some rest. Going to his – and Clarke’s – room seemed like too much right now, though, so he found the nearest couch and laid down, trying to act as if he was going to watch TV and then accidentally fell asleep.

           Before he had time to close his eyes for more than a few seconds, however, a hand tapped on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw Murphy squatting in front of him with a half bemused, half  _a_ mused expression on his face. “What are you doing?”

           Bellamy wiped his eyes. “I was watching TV.”

           Murphy snorted. “The TV remote is across the room, the TV’s off, and you’re lying on your stomach. Try again.”

           Rolling his eyes, Bellamy said, “Taking a nap.”

           “On the couch? You don’t even fit.”

           This was true; Bellamy’s feet and a little bit of his legs hung off the arm of the couch, making it a little uncomfortable. “I don’t fit on most couches,” he said at last.

           “Yeah, but you’ll fit on the beds here; they’re huge.”

           Unsure if Murphy was genuinely curious or trying to tease him (probably the latter), Bellamy narrowed his eyes and said weakly, “I was too lazy to get to the room.”

           “Mm-hm. Or you were too afraid to see if Clarke was there.”

           Instinctively Bellamy’s eyes flitted around the room, worried Clarke was nearby and might overhear, but she was thankfully elsewhere. In fact, no one was around; probably settling in their own rooms or exploring out back.

           He knew it was useless to deny this to Murphy, who saw through him even back when his crush on Clarke was a minor thing he could turn off and on in his brain, so he just said, “Oh, shut up, Murphy.”

           “I’ll pass,” he said. “Scoot over; I’m sitting down.”

           Surprised, Bellamy obliged and sat up to make room for the younger man, who sat down heavily and turned to face Bellamy. “You and I need to have a talk.”

           He said the statement the way a parent might, which Bellamy would’ve found funnier if it wasn’t directed at him. “About what?”

           Murphy leveled a look at him that definitely mirrored ones Bellamy gave Octavia. “Take a wild guess.”

           Despite himself, Bellamy felt his neck flush a little. “I have it handled.”

           “Oh, definitely, that’s why you’re taking a nap on the living room couch instead of going to a room you sharing with your crush.”

           “She probably wants space!” Bellamy blurted awkwardly. (Damn, he didn’t realize reliving high school meant he was going to feel and act so much like a high schooler, too.)

           Murphy rolled his eyes upwards and kept them that way for several long moments, as if agreeing with some watching deity that yes, Bellamy truly was the stupidest person alive. “If she wanted space, she would not come, or asked to be roomed with Wells or Jasper instead.”

           “But—but they had already planned to room together, so she just got stuck with me,” Bellamy protested lamely.

           “It’s not like she was oblivious this whole time, though,” Murphy said, turning surprisingly patient. “She was there when we divided up rooms – that was while you were with Octavia – and made no protests to being with you; in fact, she requested it.”

           Bellamy blinked. “She...requested it?”

           Murphy flipped immediately back into snark, grinning like a wolf who had successfully cornered its unwitting pray. “Seems to me she probably wants the  _opposite_  of space.”

           The flush darkened and crept up into Bellamy’s cheeks. “Shut up, Murphy.”

           Murphy shrugged instead. “Ignore it all you like, but you won’t be able to avoid her tonight, or tomorrow. I’d suggest actually doing something about your overdue crush, rather than staring at her all moony-eyed and avoiding every conversation that involves dating.”

           Bellamy muttered noncommittally and Murphy, seeming to realize that was the best he was going to get, stood up. “Don’t be an idiot, Blake,” he said, putting his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder with more sincerity than Bellamy was expecting, then walked off to go find his girlfriend.

 

Setting up for the dance was something Bellamy expected to enjoy little, but it ended up being the most entertaining part of the day. Setting up lights in the ballroom – which was inside the cabin, as he’d guessed – was precarious but entertaining, and there were so many decoration options in the closet that everyone got a task. Bellamy initially wanted to help blow up balloons, make a tunnel for them to pass under and have the rest strewn around the room haphazardly, but ended up being in charge of all the high-up decorations, being the tallest among them.

           By the time they were done, they had not one but two balloon tunnels with dozens of singles across the floor for them to trip over later, lights hung from the ceiling like streamers, and a covered table for drinks and food. They’d also set up speakers, a mostly mocking photo-op corner, and a box of costumes in a corner in case they felt like having a contest. Overall, it seemed like the dance was going to be far better than any high school dance, and Bellamy felt himself get more and more excited for it.

           This positive attitude was probably the only thing that got Bellamy through brushing his teeth and then into his – and Clarke’s – room when everyone checked in for the night. She was already inside, rummaging through her back for PJs and a toothbrush, and gave him a quick smile when she heard the door open.

           “Which side do you want?”

           Her immediate assumption they’d be sharing shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Bellamy, considering there was only one bed and she wasn’t likely to suggest he sleep on the floor, but it still took Bellamy a few seconds to gather himself and answer. “Uh, I don’t care. You can pick a side.”

           She shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take left, since I already set some things on that nightstand. That good?”

           Bellamy nodded, swallowing a little.

           “I just showered this morning, so I should be good until I get ready for the dance tomorrow, but if you want to clean up there’s one we’re sharing with Raven and Luna just a couple doors down.”

           “Uh, I should be good.”

           “Good.” She stood up, wad of clothes in hand. “I turn my back and you turn yours?”

           Bellamy blinked before realizing she meant for changing. “Oh. Uh—yeah. Um, that’s fine, I mean.” He grabbed his bag then turned around, indicating she could change now. As he attempted to not pay attention to the sound of her shirt coming off, and then her pants, he pulled out his own pajamas and quickly changed into them, then waited a long moment until Clarke said, “Okay. I’m good now if you are.”

           “Yeah, I’m good,” he said, until he turned around and then suddenly he wasn’t. Clarke was...shit, she looked good, and all she was wearing was a ragged old t-shirt and some running shorts. Which was precisely the problem, really—that was  _all_  she was wearing. The shirt was so long it covered the shorts when she dropped her arms, and the collar was both wide and deep, revealing the obvious lack of a bra. He found it immensely difficult not to stare at her legs, or her chest, or her neck, or....

           He swallowed against the sudden lack of moisture in his mouth. “Uh, left side, you said?”

           “That’s my side, yeah,” she said, giving him a mostly indecipherable look. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable; I need to brush my teeth and then I’ll be back.”

           Bellamy nodded, not sure what else to say. She walked out and he let out a long breath as soon as the door was closed. His heart was nearly pounding out of his chest and all he’d done was  _look_  at her. God, he was fucked.

           He decided the best thing to do was to get into bed now, letting him either be asleep by the time Clarke came back or at least not have to get into bed the same time as her. Slowly, he untucked the top of the sheets and slipped under, noting that Murphy was right, his feet didn’t even hang over. After a little bit of thought, he laid on his side facing the wall, so he wouldn’t seem as eager to be near Clarke as he felt, and tried to breathe evenly.

           He was still very awake by the time Clarke came back, even though she’d been gone a good long while for just brushing her teeth. It could’ve been his general inability to fall asleep quickly, but Bellamy figured it was mostly because of Clarke—half that he was too nervous to settle down, and half that he was too pathetic to miss the chance of feeling Clarke getting into bed with him.

           Platonically. Whatever. As he said—pathetic.

           Anyway, Clarke came in and closed the door behind her before slipping into bed beside him, not close enough to touch but certainly close enough for him to be hyperaware of her presence. Bellamy had turned off the main light but kept one of the bedside lamps on, and she asked in a small voice if he could turn it off.

           “Of course,” he said, reaching to pull the cord and trying to adjust to the sudden darkness.

           He settled into his pillow, trying not to be distracted by Clarke but hearing every breath she took in and out. And that was when he noticed it—a hitch in her breathing, like she was forcing it to go in and out evenly. He listened in closer and thought he heard a tiny, muffled sniffle, and then it all came into place rather quickly.

           For a moment, Bellamy pondered if he should say something, or turn around, or do nothing at all. He didn’t want to invade her space, if she wanted it right now, but he also wanted to do  _something_.

           There was a slight movement on the bed, as if Clarke had begun to shake, and Bellamy immediately gave in. He shifted onto his other side, scooted closer to Clarke, and wrapped an arm around her waist.

           Her breathing hitched again, this time in surprise, and she managed to mumble, “Bellamy, I’m—you don’t have to.”

           “You told me the last thing you wanted was to be alone with your thoughts,” he whispered back, resting his head momentarily against her hair. “Well, you’re not alone anymore.”

           At that, Clarke let out a choked sob, then twisted in his arms to face him, pushing her face into his chest. He slipped an arm under her so he could secure her against him and ran his other hand over her hair in repetitive, hopefully soothing motions while she cried. She curled her fist into the fabric of his shirt, burrowing her nose into his collarbone; he tucked his head so he could rest his lips on her hair, the way he knew calmed her, and continued to stroke his hands down her hair and spine and back up again.

           Neither person said anything, but they didn’t need to; they just laid there together, not letting the other be alone, until they finally fell asleep.

Bellamy woke up before Clarke, which was a blessing and a curse.

           It was a blessing because she needed the sleep, and because he could look at her without feeling awkward about it. She was still wrapped up in his arms – the arm beneath her was completely numb, but he didn’t care – with her face tucked up against his neck. They had sort of rolled over in their sleep so that he was on his back, but his hand had not strayed from her hair. She looked peaceful and soft, breathing in and out softly against his chest, the air stirring on his pajama shirt collar and making him shiver a little.

           That was the curse— the domesticity and intimacy of their position was making it really fucking hard for his self-control to win out right now. Plus, she was so close to him, too close, and he wasn’t sure he wanted her to wake up to him so... _happy_  to see her.

           He considered trying to shift away a little, ease the tension, but Clarke chose that moment to wake up, blinking her eyes slowly as she came to. She registered their position but surprisingly didn’t try to move away, just shifted a little to free his arm and get a better look at his face.

           “Hey, Bellamy,” she said softly, smiling at him in that sleepy way that made his heart do strange things.

           He stroked his thumb over her hair without thinking about it, and she curled into the touch a little. “Good morning, Clarke.”

           She just looked at him for a moment, either drinking him in or pondering something, and then said at last, “Thank you. For—last night. And all week. And just—everything.”

           Bellamy’s heart turned over again, a little gentler this time. “Of course, Clarke. I’m always going to be there when you need me.”

           “And when I want you?” she said casually, propping herself on top of his chest.

           Her voice had accidentally gone a little low from the combination of sleep and crying, but his body wasn’t treating it as an accident. He swallowed a little. “When you want me around, too. I’ll always be there.”

           Clarke nodded, but she wasn’t really smiling anymore. She just stared at him, her expression seeming almost desperate, or maybe longing.

Slowly, her hand came up to his face. “Bellamy.”

           Bellamy found it hard to breathe, much less reply, so he just stared as she leaned in closer, gaze flicking down a little. His heart was pounding, but he managed to weave his hand into her hair, securing her. Her breath hit his face, nose an inch or two away from his, and he fought the urge to close his eyes yet.

           There was a rapid pounding on the door and Bellamy jumped, his hand falling away from Clarke’s hair and his eyes jerking towards the sound.

           “Get up, you two,” a voice called—Raven. “Breakfast in twenty.”

           Bellamy breathed in and out, slowly, and let his gaze turn back to Clarke only to realize she had barely moved an inch. She was still staring at him, too, hand lightly pressed against his cheek.

           There was a moment of indecision on her face, and then she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, not far from his mouth, lingering there for a few moments before she pulled away and rolled off the bed.

           “Hurry and change,” she said, and Bellamy told himself the hitch in her breath was from the crying still. “Don’t want to miss breakfast.”

Breakfast was cooked by Monty and Miller—meaning Monty volunteered to cook and Miller was forced into the ordeal with him. The smell of hash browns, sausage, and eggs greeted Bellamy as he walked into the kitchen, making his stomach rumble.

           “See, Nate? I knew you were good at cooking,” Monty said smugly as they brought the plates of food to the table, where everyone else was getting the table set up.

           Miller rolled his eyes. “It was  _hash browns_ , Monty. No effort required.”

           Monty shoved him good naturedly and they sat down together. The rest of the group followed suit; Clarke waited until Bellamy had sat down to take the seat to his left, scooting it a little closer to him to whisper a joke about Monty and then not scooting away.

           The food was delicious – “Though the hash browns taste a little burnt to me,” he snarked to Miller – and Bellamy almost managed to forget about his night and morning with Clarke.

           That is, until he felt a hand cover his.

           Immediately, Bellamy jumped, choking on his food, and Jasper, who was on his right, slapped his back a couple of times until he could swallow and breathe again. “Did you take too big of a bite?” Jasper asked, concerned.

           Bellamy cleared his throat, unable to think any coherent thoughts that didn’t relate to how Clarke’s hand was curling around his and refusing to move. “Uh—I—”

           “Yeah, big bite sounds like it,” Clarke said, laughing a little, and he knew she was laughing at his expense, but he couldn’t help but duck his face to hide a smile.

           It was now that Bellamy realized why Clarke wanted to sit on his left side—since she was left-handed and he was right-handed, she managed to keep a tight but warm grip on his hand for the rest of breakfast.

           Once everyone had finished, cleaning assignments were given to Clarke, Bellamy, Emori, and Luna. The rest scurried off immediately, as if worried they’d get dragged in as well if they stayed too long.

           Having four people proved rather effective for clean-up—they all put away the food quickly, then once the dishwasher was full, they made an assembly line for handwashing.

           Luna and Emori started talking a little, so Bellamy decided it was a safe time to turn to Clarke and ask, “What was that for?”

           “What was what for?” she asked innocently, trying to reach a high shelf to put away the serving plate.

           He sighed and lifted it the rest of the way for her. “The hand thing,” he said, willing himself not to flush.

           She just smiled and moved past him to the counter, waiting for him to hand her another dish. Bellamy grumbled and dried off a pan hurriedly, handing it to her with a distinct look. “You need practice,” she said simply. “I figured you should get used to holding my hand before we got to the dance so that you didn’t, like, pass out or something. Since you’re such a baby and all.”

           The flush was winning, but he managed to snort as if this was a totally casual conversation for him. “Weird timing for practice.”

           Clarke laughed. “It was a little funny, right? Just a little.”

           Bellamy rolled his eyes, but he didn’t disagree.

 

The rest of the day was a blur of board games and exploring outside. At one point, half the group jumped into the lake with clothes and all, and Bellamy nearly died when he thought Clarke would join, but she changed her mind when Jasper got a leech. She did, however, strip to her sports bra and denim shorts to sit at the edge of the water, so Bellamy had to pretend he was allergic to something and run inside before he literally died.

           They ate a light lunch and then, at last, it was time to get ready for the dance.

           There were four bathrooms in the house, and all the couples had instinctively split themselves up so they’d be surprised. Much to his relief, Clarke didn’t try this, but then Wells walked in and started making motherly clucking noises before pulling her away despite her protests.

           Miller, who was sharing the bathroom with Bellamy, laughed at him incessantly, and Bellamy just flipped him off before waiting outside for his friend to shower.

           Thankfully, Miller was in and out in under twenty minutes, ready save for his tie and shoes. Bellamy showered as quickly as he could as well – the water was cold from everyone using it at the same time; he didn’t try to turn it up – and dried off before pulling on his outfit. He wasn’t particularly concerned about looking great, because no one was going to judge him (or, rather, they’d judge him either way), but he had at least brought a suit. It was just a simple black pants, shoes, and jacket combo with a white shirt and a dark red tie. Nothing fancy; just enough to pass.

           He considered doing something with his hair, then decided against it, remembering how awful it used to look when he tried to slick it down or give it a part. Messy was just going to have to work.

           Since some of the others had a little more work to do, Bellamy and Miller ended up waiting by the bathroom door on their phones, battling each other on semi-illegal Pokémon apps until they heard Raven yelling that everyone was ready and could now go to the ballroom.

           Bellamy did his best not to rush, which was kind of hard because  _Miller_  was rushing. He managed to keep himself at a walk, though, which with his long legs propelled him quickly anyway.

           When everyone was gathered by the ballroom, the heart eyes started up immediately, and Bellamy was determined not to join in, but then he heard, “Hey, Bell, looking good.”

           His eyes turned immediately to the source and...fuck. Clarke looked  _good_. Too good; he could feel his mouth go dry already. She had put on dark, soft eye shadow and bright lipstick and just a tint of blush, and her complicated braid-bun up-do had left a few strands of hair against her face that he was itching to tuck behind her ear. And her  _dress_ —it was dark blue, with wide, loose straps that were already falling off her shoulders and a small slit up the side of her leg, which was already halfway up her thigh. It was low-cut, too, giving him an abundant view of her cleavage and god  _damn_ he was struggling not to stare.

           Bellamy swallowed, hard, and kept his eyes on her face.

           Clarke’s eyes were sparkling with mirth, which just made it worse. “That bad?”

           “What? No,” Bellamy said, appalled. “You look—I mean, uh—shit.”

           “I look shit?” she teased.

           Bellamy hung his head. “You’re the worst.”

           She poked him in the chest, still on the verge of laughter. “You know I’m not. Now come on, I want food.”

           She curled her hand around his arm and he reflexively stood up straighter, gentleman mode taking over. He refused to look left or right, knowing if anyone had managed to peel their eyes off their dates they’d be laughing at his utter inability and awkwardness.

           After a moment or two, he and Clarke led the way inside the dance room.

The normal lights had been turned off, leaving only the sprinkles of light from the hanging streamers and bathing the room in a soft, sparkly glow. The balloon tunnels were beautiful, though destroyed almost immediately in people’s excitement, and the rest of the balloons became victims soon after.

           “Get the tunes on!” Murphy hollered, already leading Emori out to the center of the room.

           “I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” Raven yelled back, putting her playlist on shuffle and setting the speakers to a near-deafening volume.

           The first song was fast and upbeat, so everyone ended up in a giant clump to jump around and try out their stupid dance moves and sing without any sense of tune or key. The second song was the same, and the third, and the crowd began to disperse a little to get food. Bellamy was one of the dissenters, grabbing a handful of popcorn and a sandwich to eat while he got a breath of air.

           By the end of the fourth song, he had finished eating, and the tune turned soft and slow. True to his current high school persona, Bellamy’s heart immediately started running off like an Olympian sprinter, and he debated if he should just pretend he needed to go to the bathroom or had a phone call or something when Clarke grabbed his wrist out of nowhere and began dragging him onto the floor.

           “You know how to slow dance, right?” she said once she’d pulled him sufficiently into the crowd (crowd being a loose term, since there were eight other people occupying the space).

           Bellamy rolled his eyes. “I’m not fourteen, Clarke.”

           “That’s not an answer,” she noted. “Here, I’ll help.” She took his hands and placed them high on her waist, then looped her own arms around his neck. “See? Easy.”

           Bellamy was mostly just working to breathe properly, but he nodded. “Yeah. Easy.”

           They started to sway, and then at last Bellamy managed to loosen up a little bit, adjusting his hands more comfortably around her waist as she shuffled a little closer so they wouldn’t be at an awkward arms-length angle. “You do look beautiful,” he said after a moment, realizing he hadn’t complemented her yet. “Just so you know.”

           “You clean up nicely yourself,” she said back, looking oddly touched.

           He snorted a little. “I’m not sure ‘showering and putting on clothes’ counts as cleaning up nicely,” he said. “I didn’t even do anything to my hair, and yours looks like it needs its own manual.”

           “Well, you always look good, so I think it counts. And I like your hair,” she added, hand reaching up a little to run through his curls momentarily. Involuntarily, his eyes fluttered, and Clarke paused, then did it again, more deliberate this time.

           In response, he pulled her a little closer, one hand slipping around her back while the other skated up her side to cup her shoulder blade. He could feel her shiver against his fingers, right in time with her fingers stuttering to a stop in his hair, and had to close his eyes.

           “I like you,” she whispered, clearly affected. “Not just your hair, I mean.”

           Bellamy opened his eyes again and found her looking at him with that same look she’d given him that morning, when he’d thought maybe she would kiss him. His heart was  _pounding_. “I like you, too,” he breathed, letting his voice go as low as it wanted, which was apparently a near growl.

           She tipped her head up a tiny bit and Bellamy’s hand followed the motion, slipping up to curl against her neck, his thumb brushing her jaw. Her breaths mingled with his now, and though Bellamy had absently thought of kissing Clarke a million times by now, this was one of the first times he genuinely thought of closing the gap between them.

           At the last moment, he faltered, changing the angle so he simply lay his forehead against hers instead. He could feel her sigh as well as hear it, her chest brushing up against his, and sighed back, hoping it was enough for her to understand.

           Of course it was enough; she was Clarke. No matter how he felt about her, or how she felt back, she always knew what he was trying to say.

           They continued to sway like that, unaware of the people around them, until the song ended and a few moments after that, too, when finally Clarke drew away.

           Bellamy hadn’t had any alcohol, and yet he felt a little drunk looking at her; almost in a dream. God, he  _loved_  her, and he wanted to kiss her until he couldn’t even feel the sensation, and wake up beside her every day until time dissolved, and hold her hand like he could give her the whole world through his touch. And yet all he could do was look at her.

           “Clarke,” he whispered, finally giving into the urge to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, forcing his hand not to linger too long against her cheek.

           She smiled, soft and comfortable, and a new song started to play, no longer slow but instead swinging and jazzy and upbeat. “Let’s get back in there, huh?” she asked, and Bellamy knew she was asking so much more than to go dance with their friends, that she couldn’t put everything she wanted to say into words, just like him.

           He knew this, so he just smiled and said back, “Anything you want.”

           In response, she took his hand, squeezing gently, and they went to join their friends.

           Several more songs went by, all unsuitable for slow dancing, and by that point most of the group had found some of the alcohol, but Bellamy was weary to go near it now, afraid what was left of his self-control would dissolve as soon as a bottle touched his lips.

           To be fair, he wasn’t sure his self-control would hold up either way, but if it did fail, he at least wanted to be sober when it happened. Ruining his act of not being in love with his best friend seemed like a hard-enough experience without adding alcohol to the mix.

           Another slow song came on, and when Clarke gave him a questioning look, he glanced at the row of chairs in the corner and then back at her. She nodded, seeming an equal mix of disappointment and relief – which was fully reciprocated – and followed him over.

           They mostly just watched everyone else at first, laughing as Jasper spun Wells around and dipped him dramatically. Monty and Miller were a better dancing duo than they liked to claim as well, actually doing dance steps instead of semi-drunken swaying. Miller was grinning like a madman, too, which Bellamy made a mental note to tease him about later.

           “Bellamy,” Clarke began, sounding a little unsure; he turned his face to her and saw she was looking thoughtful. “When I—at the court case, will you come with me? To see it, I mean, not just after.”

           Bellamy blinked, surprised she felt she had to ask. “Of course I will, if you want me to.”

           Clarke nodded insistently. “Please. I need—well, my mom isn’t going to be much support, since she’s a witness against him and I plan to stay far away from her for the next ten years or so, and the others only know enough to not be surprised or concerned by the newspapers, and I just...I want you there. I  _need_  you there.”

           She looked incredibly urgent, almost afraid, and Bellamy felt the familiar urge to comfort her and make all the pain go away. Without thinking about it (or, rather, not thinking too much about it), he took Clarke’s hand and interlocked his fingers with hers. “Then I’ll be there. I want to be,” he added, knowing she’d worry about him doing something only for her benefit, as if there was much else he ever wanted to do. “I’ll come with you.”

           “Thank you, Bellamy,” she murmured, all the energy being pulled out of her with the relief in her words, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

           He slouched a little so she’d be more comfortable and leaned his head on hers, squeezing her hand gently. “You’re welcome, Clarke,” he whispered, and that was that.

The party never really ended, officially; people just sort of slipped off when they felt it was done for them. Bellamy and Clarke were the last to leave, half because the effort of moving seemed like a monumental task and half because they figured they’d let all the drunk people with their bad breath and wandering hands get a nice long head start.

           When the party had sufficiently died off, they left the mess and went upstairs, first to the bathroom to wash up and then to their room. They faced away from each other to change again and then got into bed without comment—unlike yesterday, they got under the sheets simultaneously, and Clarke didn’t hesitate before she curled against him.

           They laid there like that for a long while, breathing a little unevenly but for the most part comfortable, Bellamy’s arm over her back and her hand on his ribcage. He hoped she would be able to fall asleep quickly, knowing how emotionally and physically exhausted she was, but she was very clearly still awake almost an hour after they’d gone up to bed.

           “Clarke....” he said at last, wondering if she might want to talk.

           “Do you want to go steal some beer?” she blurted.

           Bellamy blinked and craned his head to look at her. “What?”

           “Downstairs, I mean,” she said, tucking herself up on his chest to look at him. Her foot brushed his leg, probably on accident.

           “Do  _you_  want to?” he asked in response.

           She nodded. “If I can’t sleep, I might as well get drunk, right?”

           That didn’t seem like the soundest of logic, but Bellamy decided logic probably wasn’t Clarke’s current goal. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “Okay.”

           Clarke brightened a little and rolled off the bed. “Let’s go then.”

           They tried to be as quiet as they could going down the stairs, though they knew everyone in the house was likely either dead asleep or preoccupied. The ballroom was the same as when they left it, with a few bottles of beer still on the table; they grabbed one each and sat on the same chairs they’d been in just an hour or so ago, cracking them open immediately.

           As expected, the beer was warm and a little flat, but somehow it was exactly what Bellamy needed right now. Clarke sighed as she swallowed the first swig, giving him a nod of approval.

           “Definitely what I needed,” she said, echoing his thoughts.

           They drank a little more, and talked more, too, sliding comfortably into tipsiness. “Le’s dance,” Clarke slurred, standing and tugging on his arm.

           He laughed a little at her. “There’s no music, Clarke.”

           “Pshhhhh,” she crowed, pulling with both arms now. “You’re no fun at all if you think you need music to dance, Blake. Come on, dance with me.”

           Finally, Bellamy relented, setting down his half-empty beer and letting her drag him to the center of the room. He set his hands securely on her waist, more sure than last time (which was probably due to alcohol more than actual confidence), and she shimmied up close to loop her arms around his neck, starting to sway.

           “It’s more comfortable,” she said, eyes closed but head tilted towards his face, “doing this in pajamas.”

           “Agreed, though I’ll admit mine was much less uncomfortable than yours.”

           “Did you like it? The dress, I mean.”

           The memory of it was making Bellamy a lot more aware of how close Clarke was to him. “Yes. It was very pretty.”

           “Did you like it on  _me_?” she cooed, almost childishly, ducking her head into his shoulder with a smile.

           Bellamy bit back a less appropriate response to that and said, “Yes, I did.”

           “Mmm,” she said, like she had read his mind. He tried to summon shame at this, but struggled to place it correctly. Clarke was very warm against him; her nose had found the bare skin at the collar of his shirt.

           “Is there music in your head?” Bellamy asked her to distract himself.

           She thought for a moment, humming a little. “Yeah, but ‘s not a real song. Dad just sang it to me, when I was lil and couldn’t sleep.” She paused heavily, her eyes and voice going distant. “My dad.”

           Bellamy tensed, instinctively pulling her closer; when she didn’t respond, he drew a hand from her side to lift her chin. “Clarke? Hey, look at me.”

           She did after a moment, looking a little dazed but mostly just sad. “I’m not drunk enough, am I?”

           “I don’t think we can ever get that drunk, Clarke,” he agreed.

           Clarke nodded in understanding, dropping her gaze as her lip started to quiver. Bellamy’s heart ached all over again; following an impulse, he pressed his lips to her forehead, allowing his hand to curl around her jaw to steady her.

           With a heavy, uncoiled sigh, Clarke leaned into the touch, one hand going to his shoulder while the other tightened around his neck. Bellamy took this as encouragement and moved gently to her cheekbone, then the curve of her jaw, the corner of her mouth....

           He froze, realizing where he was letting this go and immediately feeling ashamed because of it. Dropping his hand back to his side and hanging his head a little, he tried to summon up the courage to explain.

           “Bellamy?”

           Clarke sounded confused, not upset, which was a start. “I, uh—sorry,” he said, unable to come up with anything more eloquent.

           There was a pause, then Clarke curled her hand up into Bellamy’s hair, pulling just a little to try to get him to lift his head. “Don’t be.”

           He lifted his head on his own at that, stunned. “What?”

           She held his gaze determinedly, like she wanted him to see there was no compromise in her eyes. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t—don’t stop.”

           Bellamy could only stare, though he sensed his hand tightening on her waist. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came to mind.

           Clarke squirmed a little under his gaze, pushing her hand further into his hair. “Please.”

           It was the please that really broke Bellamy, though just about anything would’ve broken him at this moment, with Clarke pressed so close to him and actually  _asking_  him to kiss her. He tilted her head up with his hand and, before he could think about it any more than he had to, pressed his lips to hers.

           From a technical standpoint, this was nothing new; he’d kissed plenty of people, so he knew what someone else’s mouth felt like, and pretty soon they all started to taste the same, too. But from every other standpoint, it was like he’d never kissed another human being before, because it was  _Clarke_  now; Clarke’s mouth slipping across his, Clarke’s hands tugging his hair and digging into his shoulder, Clarke’s chest heaving against his, Clarke’s moans when he traced her lips with his tongue. It was like his entire body was short-circuiting.

           At last they came up for air, Clarke leaning her head against his shoulder with a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. Bellamy carded his fingers through her hair for a few moments, then his brain caught up to the rest of him and he started to get worried again.

           “Clarke....” he said, slowly. “Are you—we’re drunk.”

           She lifted her head, giving him a look. “A little, yeah. And?”

           “What if this...what if it’s just the alcohol talking?”

           Understanding filled Clarke’s eyes and she set her hands on his shoulders. “Is it talking for you?”

           Bellamy blinked. “What? No. No, of course not.” He paused, then added a little sheepishly, “The lack of awkwardness up until now is probably alcohol-induced, but the rest...that, uh, that was all me.”

           Smiling, Clarke said, “Yeah, you’re really not that drunk. And neither am I.”

           Bellamy swallowed hard. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to say something just to make me happy.”

           “Bellamy,” she said, mock-scolding, “I don’t have to lie to make you happy. I  _want_  this, okay? I want you. I—” She paused, swallowing, and Bellamy’s heart thudded in his chest, knowing instinctively what she was about to say. “I—”

           Before she could finish, Bellamy pulled her towards him and crushed his mouth to hers, just for a moment before pulling away. When she just stared at him, he explained, “Sober. If—if you mean it, I want to hear it sober.”

           She just rolled her eyes. “You’re too dramatic sometimes, you know that? I’m not just going to say it once. I loved you five years ago, and twenty minutes, and right now, and I’m sure as hell going to love you after this, too. Got it?”

           He looked at her for a moment, flushed and smiling and so very close to him. She looked  _happy_ , and content, and that assured Bellamy more than anything she meant it.

           “Got it,” he agreed, letting himself smile as wide as he wanted to when he bent to kiss her again.

           It took them a moment to adjust, since they were both smiling too much to kiss properly, but once they did it clicked and the instant familiarity was nearly overwhelming. Bellamy cradled her jaw in his hand, loving the feel of it moving beneath his palm, the way she kept slipping her nose across his in search of the right angle.

           “Upstairs?” she asked when they paused for breath.

           “Sounds good to me,” he grinned. “Walk or carry?”

           “That’s cute you’re offering, but we both know how long it will take if you carry me, and I’m not quite that patient.”

           “I resent that,” he shot back mockingly, but he grabbed her hand anyway, dragging her upstairs.

           The mood didn’t really change when their door shut behind them; just settled, really. Clarke flopped onto the bed with a happy sigh, smiling at him like she couldn’t stop as he settled over her.

           They kissed with little heat for a few moments, just enjoying each other’s presence, but Clarke quickly became impatient, tugging at his shirt.

           “Off,” she demanded, tugging again.

           He pulled back to smirk at her. “What, you’re not getting tired yet?”

           She smirked right back. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

 

Bellamy woke up before Clarke – unsurprisingly, knowing how late of a sleeper she was – and he used the time to just look at her for a moment. Her mussed hair had gotten everywhere, including in her mouth, and her carefully pulled the strands away with a little laugh. Her shirt had shifted over her shoulder and collarbone, too—they’d redressed, afterwards, half because it was getting cold and half because they both agreed they couldn’t trust their friends not to burst in on them. She’d also tucked her legs between his, and it had made him weary of the idea of moving ever again.

           When she opened her eyes, he was watching, and her smile made it impossible –  _impossible_ – to not kiss her, so he did, leaning down and capturing her mouth softly.

           “I love you,” she sighed by way of greeting.

           Bellamy grinned and pressed a quick kiss to her neck. “Good thing, or I’d be feeling really awkward right now.” He paused, realizing suddenly he’d never actually said it back, and drew his eyes back to hers. “I love you, too. In case you couldn’t tell.”

           “You weren’t exactly subtle,” she teased, though the settle of her shoulders told him she was relieved.

           “No, I wasn’t. Not for six years,” he agreed, and Clarke’s eyes widened.

           “Shit, that long? Why didn’t you tell me?” Clarke asked, shifting to look at him better with furrowed eyebrows.

           “It never seemed right. You were always dating someone, or talking about how you didn’t want to date anyone, or didn’t seem interested....”

           “I always just wanted to date  _you_ ,” she said, shaking her head. “I just never figured out how to tell you, and I worried if you didn’t like me back....”

           “It would ruin the friendship,” he finished. “Yeah, me too. But...would you still want that? To date me?”

           “Are you serious?” she asked, almost laughing. “Of course I do, Bellamy. I want all of it.”

           “Careful what you wish for,” he teased. “I might keep you forever.”

           “Please do,” she said, almost all seriousness now.

           Bellamy smiled and tucked a lock of hair away from her face. “Sounds like a plan.”

No one actually noticed the change in his and Clarke’s mannerisms all through breakfast and packing up, which he found half hilarious and half deeply warming. In fact, no one commented at all until they were heading out to the cars and Bellamy reached down to give Clarke a goodbye kiss, and then he heard an equal mixture of angry shouts and excited whoops.

           “See you soon?” he said, smiling down at her.

           She nodded. “My house. See you there.”

           Bellamy broke a few speeding laws going home, plus suffered a large number of all-caps texts yelling things like  _why the hell didn’t you tell us_  and  _was that going on for more than a week bc i have a bet going_  and  _if you two idiots are still claiming you’re platonic i’m going to make birth control a given for you blake_. He didn’t really mind, though, because he was going to get to be with Clarke, for real, whenever they needed or just wanted each other, through the shitty times and the better ones. He got to be  _hers_  now.

           And though he knew in his heart he’d always been hers, they’d always been together in every way that truly mattered, the thought still made him smile.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr <3
> 
> scale of 1 to 10 how extra was this (factoring in i lowkey based it off my life)
> 
> PSA be careful with alcohol kiddos. be careful about how much. don't drink and drive. find a buddy. be careful around sex. be safe <3


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